


Crazy If I Do, Crazy If I Don't

by beezyland



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I Blame Tumblr, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mental Health Issues, Morello needs a hug but doesn't want it, Rape Aftermath, Suicide Attempt, Trigger Warnings, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 15:57:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2031105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beezyland/pseuds/beezyland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She should have never fallen asleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crazy If I Do, Crazy If I Don't

**Author's Note:**

> Requested anonymously on Tumblr. The aforementioned "dark fic" this is.
> 
> Canon divergence 02x04 "A Whole Other Hole" onward. 
> 
> (I am so sorry.)

She should have never fallen asleep. 

Lorna snaps awake when she feels a large pair of hands press her down into the bathtub. As she struggles and flails beneath the orange ginger infused bath water, the nylon veil wraps around her arms, further restraining her. When she finally forces her way up, gasping for air, her eyes slowly come into focus, drops of water perched on her lashes. The first thing she sees is Christopher above her, his kind eyes filled with hatred. His hands close around her throat and he shoves her under again.

She tries to fight, she really does, but he’s just so much bigger and strong and she’s just so small and frail. Lorna runs out of breath so quickly and when she starts to gag, Christopher pulls her back up.

“What are you doing here?” Christopher shouts. “You break out of fucking prison, find me, break into my home and take a fucking bath, wearing my fiancée’s veil? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry.” Lorna coughs up water. “Please let me go. Please.”

“What? So you can do it all over again? It never ends with you!”

“I’ll stop,” she says frantically. “I’ll stop. I’ll be a good girl, I promise. Just please let me go.”

Christopher takes in the sight of her rather than her words, stares at her as he holds her in place. He’s fully clothed, pinning her naked body to the back of the tub. The look in his eyes darken as his eyes trails over her, from the veil crooked atop her head down to where her body disappears beneath the murky water. He brings hand to her breast and squeezes hard.

Lorna shuts her eyes because no, no, no, this isn’t how it’s supposed to feel—painful and scary and so fucking cold. This is nothing like the beautiful, romantic, loving images that flickered behind her eyelids every night in her bunk. No. This is the thing of nightmares. 

“Is this what you want?” Christopher asks. “Is this why you keep this up, fucking finding me every fucking time? You want me to fuck you?”

“No…Christopher, no…”

“Shut up!” he shouts. His face is mere centimeters away from hers. Lorna tries to shrink back at the volume of his venomous words, but there’s nowhere for her to go. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up! Don’t talk to me like you know me! You don’t know me! You’re just a psychotic stalker bitch!”

One of his hands leaves her, but only long enough to undo his belt.

“Just remember, you asked for this…”

Just like that, the fantasy life that’s thrived for so long in her head dies with her screams and cries echoing between the sides of the soaking tub. The fantasy she’s cultivated for years finally crumbles along with what was left of her hope.

 

 

…

 

 

Christopher drains the tub once he’s done with her. He leaves her lying limply, left to listen to the water swirl down the drain, the only remaining sound once his panting and her sobbing cease. The nearby digital clock serves as a constant reminder of how unbelievably screwed she is. _Ha_ , _screwed_ , Lorna thinks bitterly as the tears leave marks down her cheeks. She feels so damn crazy because who thinks of that after what’s just happened? Maybe all of it just proves that she is crazy. She’s a crazy person that deserves what she got.

Lorna feels like she has absolutely nothing left in her as she struggles to her feet, beads of water tracing her reddened, bruising skin. She manages to collect her things and escape out the window. Christopher doesn’t try to stop her or even chase her, just tells her she knows what will happen if he ever sees her fucking face again. Lorna doesn’t need to be told twice. When she’s back on the road, leaving Albany, miles and miles away, it still feels too close for comfort.

She does her best to dry her hair, but Fisher and Miss Rosa don’t even seem to notice, preoccupied with Miss Rosa throwing up every few seconds. As Lorna helps Miss Rosa back to her room, ignoring how every inch of her body hurts and how tight her chest feels, Miss Rosa makes some remark about her lipstick and how it’s almost completely gone. Lorna just forces a laugh and makes up a half-decent lie. After all, she’s had a lot of practice with that.

 

 

…

 

 

Lorna might be a little shell shocked, but she isn’t stupid.

She knows to avoid the showers at peak hours. She waits till it’s completely empty to go in and thoroughly scrub every inch of her battered body until her skin is red and raw in addition to the nasty purple imprints—fingers and teeth and knuckles. _Reminders_ , he had called them. Her eyes burn with tears and she tries to keep them from falling by shutting her eyes, standing beneath the showerhead that provides an endless stream of freezing water.

Alone in the bathroom, Lorna stands in front of the sad excuse for a mirror, naked, looking at the canvas of horror her body has become. She’s sore all over and so empty, robbed of everything that made her day-to-day life in this hellhole a little more bearable. After a while, Lorna refuses to look at her reflection anymore, disgusted with herself. After all, Christopher was right about her, _she asked for it_.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

Those horrifyingly familiar words trigger a flood of fear that fills her empty insides. It rocks her to her very core and her entire body starts to tremble. Lorna scrambles for her robe and hastily covers up. It doesn’t take long for her to really recognize that voice as not Christopher, but Nicky. Lorna clutches her shower things to her chest as she heads for the door, passing Nicky and some pale, dark-haired girl in the midst of heavy foreplay.

Lorna really doesn’t mean to look or notice how Nicky’s hands fly off the girl once she realizes it’s Lorna walking by or how Nicky looks like she wants to say something, but doesn’t know what, too surprised to be articulate. Lorna doesn’t wait for Nicky to shake it off, for that smirk to surface, for her to make some rude comment she’ll never admit to regretting after the words leave her tongue. Lorna just keeps her head down and speeds up as she walks out and to the Suburbs without looking back.

 

 

…

 

 

She stops wearing lipstick.

Lorna also stops curling her hair, stops using makeshift cosmetics and skincare products. She can’t bring herself to bother anymore. She doesn’t stop to look at her reflection in the two compacts taped to the cinderblock wall, doesn’t stop to kiss the little cross hanging around her neck before going through the motions of a typical day in hell. Some days, the best of the worst, she barely leaves her bunk. She starts skipping meals because feeling hunger is better than feeling nothing, not that she could hold anything down if she tried.

It’s hard to describe what she’s feeling, almost like a light turned off inside of her and she doesn’t know how to turn it back on. Even if she knew how, she just doesn’t have the energy. She doesn’t care about the things she once prioritized, doesn’t care about her image or what the other inmates think of her. She doesn’t care about anything anymore. Some nights, when she’s lying awake, she wonders if she might as well be dead, if it’d be easier that way, more peaceful.

“Hey,” Piper says from the entrance to Lorna’s cube. “Whatcha up to?”

“Nothing much.” Lorna lies across her bed, staring at the ceiling. “It’s prison, y’know, not much of anything to be up to ever.”

Piper lingers, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She looks like she really has something to say or maybe might just really have to pee. Lorna’s always had something of a soft spot for the blonde so she humors her, sits up and shifts to one side of her bed so Piper can sit on the other side.

“What’s on your mind, Chapman?”

“So, Nicky might have mentioned an awkward little run-in you two had and she wanted me to find out if everything is, you know, cool between you two.” Piper laughs when her own words register in her head. “Wow, for someone who complains this place is too much like high school…”

“Yeah.” Lorna tries to sound casual, tries to make her voice match the easy shrug of her shoulders. “I was so in my head last night I barely noticed them there. That’s good for her, I think, getting back in the saddle even if I’m not that saddle…and that sounded a lot better in my head…”

“Are you forgetting who you’re talking to? I am the queen of that,” Piper assures her. “Okay, cool. And if Nicky ever asks about this, which I doubt she ever will, tell her I was totally sly and cool about it and you didn’t even know Nicky was the one who was actually asking.”

Lorna nods weakly. “Will do, Chapman.”

“Well, I’m about to head to yoga. Wanna join? Practice those soft eyes?”

“No thanks.” Lorna hugs her pillow to her chest, ready to curl up and go back to pretending to sleep. The truth is, she hasn’t slept at all, not since before that afternoon. “I’m good here.”

“Are you sure?” Piper asks tenderly. Her eyes suggest this is about more than reconsidering going to yoga, those pools of blue invite Lorna to talk to her, begging her even, but Lorna just forces a smile that strains her entire face. “Alright then, you know where to find me if you change your mind.”

Once Piper disappears, Lorna realizes how her hands are coiled in fists. She lets go and stares blankly at the little crescent moon fingernail imprints in her skin, deep, nearly turning purple. Lorna didn’t realize she’d been digging her nails into her palm throughout that entire conversation. The pain doesn’t even register, not after she’s been through so much more.

 

…

 

Lorna eats mac and cheese. Lorna throws up mac and cheese.

Action. Consequence.

Lorna escapes prison to see Christopher. Lorna can’t escape Christopher.

Action. Consequence.

This is all she ever thinks of now, leaning back against the partition between bathroom stalls, feeling out the way her throat burns, her body shakes and her heart thumps wildly in her chest. She feels empty again, physically and emotionally. But mentally so full of flashing imagines of him, Christopher, holding her down, tearing her apart physically, emotionally and mentally.

Lorna splashes water on her bare face before she starts walking, feeling an overwhelming need to _do something_ , _anything_. She’s been near comatose since that afternoon where the holes in her soul that she once filled with fantasy, a constant mantra of _it gets better, Christopher will make it better_ , were penetrated by that fantasy turned nightmare.

She ends up in the nearly empty Suburbs while everyone else is still at the bullshit Valentine’s Day celebration. Her eyes trace along the stacks and stacks of wedding magazines that she’s been collecting since her first day in Litchfield. Lorna grabs the top magazine, runs her fingers across the worn, crinkled cover featuring a beautiful smiling bride in a traditional white dress.  

Lorna tears at the magazine with such fervor, the sound of ripping paper echoes through the unusually quiet block. She digs her nails in, grits her teeth, tears, tears, tears, unaware of when the tears, tears, tears wet her cheeks. Hot, angry hopeless tears that she doesn’t bother to wipe away as she throws that absolutely shredded magazine across her cube and starts on the next.

Pages she marked with anything she could find lying around are reduced to little slivers of paper, hours and hours of her prison time wasted on planning, feeding her lies, settle on the cold concrete floor in ruins. After who knows how long—time is such a funny thing in prison—Lorna sits on the floor surrounded by shreds of magazine pages, surrounded by her crushed dreams and the destruction she caused. 

“Jesus, honey, he’s just a man.”

Lorna glances to the entrance of her cube and Red is standing there, looking down on her. She’s never been one of Red’s daughters, not the way Nicky or Gina are. Lorna has always been the pretty, simpleminded one who’s always hanging around and follows directions without question. She’s never minded. Being known as one of Red’s girls and sitting with them at meals has always been enough, allotted her the protection she needed. Now, under Red’s heavy gaze, Lorna feels like a petulant child, not perceived weak, but truly weak.

“I-I w-wish I were stronger, R-Red.”

“That’s your first mistake. Don’t wish, _be_.”

If it were only that simple… Nothing is simple anymore, least of all the inside of Lorna Morello’s head and the irrational, erratic automatic actions her body makes too fast for her head to catch up with. Not only is she mentally insane, but physiologically and spiritually broken.

“When you’re done feeling sorry for yourself over a stupid made up holiday and a stupid fucking man, clean this up before a CO sees and gives you more than a shot,” Red orders. 

Lorna nods because the lump in her throat is making it hard to even think of talking. Red walks away with silent footsteps and Lorna thinks to do as she’s told because Red is practical and always right. Instead of springing into action, the idea of it exhausting just to think about, Lorna turns onto her back lies down, sprawled out atop the torn magazine clippings and stares at the ceiling that’s become her closest, only companion in the last few days.

Lorna makes a mess. Now Lorna has to lie in it.

Action. Consequence.

 

…

 

 

 _Do you want me to fuck you? … Just remember, you asked for it._  

“No!” Lorna wakes in a cold sweat, thrashing around in her bunk, fighting against her blanket that feels too much like his polyester sweater grinding against her naked body. A chorus of irritated inmates sounds off from every corner of the dorm, pissed that she woke them with her cries and her pleas, but Lorna is too disoriented, swinging her balled fists, hyperventilating, haunted even after waking up.

“Hey! Hey! Hey! Relax, Morello! It was just a nightmare.”

Nicky is at her side in an instant, trying to steady her with her hands on Lorna’s shoulders. When Nicky accidentally touches a bruise that’s still painfully fresh, Lorna yelps and the wild-haired inmate quickly pulls back.

“Easy,” Nicky rasps. “It’s Mr. Snuffles this time, isn’t it?”

Nicky’s humor doesn’t even register with Lorna, who scrambles out of bed and slams her back against the cube wall, wedging herself into the corner and sinking to the ground, pulling her knees to her chest.

“Lorna…”

She blinks. Everything comes into focus in the dim cube. Seeing Nicky standing there, forehead crinkled with concern, anchors her to the here and now, the prison, not the bathtub.

“I-I’m fine, Nichols. I-I’m good.”

“Kid, I don’t—”

“I said I’m good!”

Nicky still has her hands up as she inches closer, but even at her minimal movement, Lorna presses harder against the cold wall behind her and shuts her eyes, tilting her chin up.

“You wanna talk about it?” Nicky asks. Lorna shakes her head from side to side, her breathing a little more even now. On any other occasion, after any other nightmare, Lorna would be curled up in Nicky’s lap right now, letting her stroke her hair. Those days are so obviously gone and they both know it. “Lorna, at least let me help you back to your bed.”

“Don’t touch me,” Lorna hisses. “Please don’t touch me. Please.”

“Can you two take your goddamn never ending shit somewhere else?” Boo yells from who-knows-where, in her cube across the way probably. “Nichols, just drag her to the showers and shove her face between your legs so the rest of us can get some shut eye!”

“Aye, fuck you!” Nicky shouts back.

“You both need to shut up before a CO hears!” Piper pipes in.

Lorna takes another shaky breath and stands on shaky legs, taking shaky steps back to her bed. As requested, Nicky doesn’t touch her, just watches and from the look in her eyes, doesn’t enjoy any of what she sees. Lorna sits on the edge of her bed, so tired of the involuntary way her body shakes and the tightness of her chest and how Nicky looks at her like she doesn’t even know her anymore.

“I’m fine, Nicky. You should go get some sleep.”

Nicky may look like she wants to argue, but doesn’t say anything. She just nods and goes back to her bunk. When she’s gone, Lorna just turns onto her side and faces the wall, tuning out the rest of the prison, the rest of the world.

Her demons are her own problem and no one else’s. She refuses to be a burden to anyone else, especially Nicky, the person Lorna’s hurt enough purely by being the specific brand of crazy she is and was born to be. Lorna shuts her eyes and prays that she won’t dream, a prayer answered because she doesn’t sleep at all.

 

 

…

 

 

She throws up again. This time it isn’t mac and cheese. Lorna barely eats these days so it’s mostly her gagging and dry heaving with her face over a disgusting toilet bowl during a peak shower hour. A round of groans from the other inmates follows Lorna retching just for nothing to surface.

“Hey brainiac!” Boo calls out to her, a towel thrown over her shoulder and a smug smile on her face. “You’re supposed to eat _then_ throw up. Getting a little desperate to fit into that wedding dress, are we, Bridezilla?”

“Fuck you!” Lorna shouts, flipping Boo off with her middle finger proudly displayed behind her back. Boo just chuckles and continues on with her morning ritual.

Though it’s the last thing she wants to do right now, Lorna figures she should try to eat something. She has to drive the van today and not eating is just plain stupid. She may have stopped caring about herself—useless, stupid Lorna—but that doesn’t mean she’s going to jeopardize other people’s lives. After going through the food line and finding herself on the receiving end of some weird stares from Daya Diaz, Lorna takes her tray and shuffles over to where Nicky sits alone for the time being.

“Hey Morello,” Nicky starts. “You good? After last night…”

“What last night?”

Nicky stares at her, trying to dissect her with those all-knowing Nichols eyes, before she turns her attention to her tray and pokes at a warm slice of orange. This is their relationship, how they’ve always been since they first met. Whenever they hit a wall, Lorna pretends nothing is wrong, like there is nothing simmering just beneath the obvious and Nicky reacts with annoyance, but doesn’t push because pushing would mean caring, which can too easily be perceived as weakness. God forbid Nicky Nichols appear anything less than tough, sharp and sexual.

"C’mon, talk to me. What's the matter, kid?" Nicky asks, trying to sound casual. They've done this dance so many times before, where Nicky tries to hide how concerned she actually is and Lorna acts as if she doesn’t notice entirely. 

"Whatcha mean?" Lorna stirs her spoon through her oatmeal, but can't fathom the idea of actually eating it or eating at all. She shoves the spoon into her mouth, insisting she at least try.

"Well, you aren't chatting my ear off, going on and on about nothing and everything in two-point-five seconds,” Nicky points out. “You haven't even touched your soggy freezer burn waffle and you love shoveling that shit in."

Lorna shrugs feebly and she sees how Nicky gives up her aloof front, only noticeable because of how close they are right now.

"I'm in prison, locked up. This is real. This is my life." Lorna's eyes glaze over as she stares hard into her oatmeal with the consistency of snot. "I always looked forward to what comes after, y'know? If I just got through the day I'd be that much closer to my real future outside of this place, but the truth is, I don't got a future."

"Hey, c'mon, everyone else in this shithole is so fucking depressing, but never you. This is the first time I even heard you acknowledge you're in prison. Don't join the herd now, Morello." When Lorna doesn't react, Nicky looks up and licks her lips, somewhat reluctant. "What about your guy? I bet he'll drop the slut from the newspaper the second your hot ass is back on the outside, huh?"

Lorna visually shutters at the thought of Christopher, how he was never her guy, how wrong she had been about wanting him to be. The fact that Nicky thinks she just fucked up this entire thing is written across her face and Lorna would reassure her that it's not her fault she's so broken, but her head won't quit spinning. 

"Hey, you sure you're okay?" Nicky reaches out, touches the back of her hand and something in Lorna snaps. She stands so quickly and flips her tray over in the process, sending food everywhere. 

"Inmate!"

"It's alright! No use crying over spilled oatmeal!" Nicky says quickly, holding her hands up. Luckily, it's Bennett, who tells them to keep it down and clean it up. Lorna mutters an apology as she picks up her tray and goes to bus it before leaving. "Lorna, wait!"

But she doesn't. Because Nicky has this way of cutting through the fog in her head, making her forget about her fantasies and all those confused thoughts bouncing around in her head for at least a little while. Most problematic of all, Nicky has a way of forcing her to confront reality and the truth of her circumstances and Lorna has to stay away because she’s certain it’ll just further ruin the both of them.

 

 

…

 

 

Lorna’s avoiding her and Nicky knows it and she hates it.

It comes to a point where Nicky can’t anymore. There are too many signs—the letting her appearance go, the barfing, the spending all her time sleeping and not eating when she isn’t needed to drive. Too many fucking signs for Nicky to just let slide any longer. Yeah, she was upset when Lorna ended things and Nicky certainly has moved on to girls who are down to fuck, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t care. It doesn’t mean Nicky killed that part of her that’s always going to feel for Lorna Morello. The self-destruction of Litchfield’s Most Optimistic Inmate is not something Nicky is going to stand by and let happen.

The next day, Nicky just decides to do it. She spots Lorna walking down the hall, grabs her by the arm and drags her into the nearest utility closet, relieved to find the door unlocked and no one having sex in it. Lorna tries to shake her off, but her fight is half-hearted and it both breaks Nicky's heart and pisses her off. 

"What the fuck, Nichols?" Lorna shakes Nicky’s hand off of her.

"Don't what the fuck me!" Nicky shouts. "This shit has gone on long enough! What's going on with you? And don’t tell me nothing! I’ve got eyes and _I know you_. This, whatever this is, it isn’t you. Did someone mess with you? One of Vee’s girls? I fucking swear—"

“No.”

“Then what?” Nicky reaches out for her, gentler this time, and Lorna jumps, practically cowering away. “Why do you flip out every time someone touches you?” Nicky pauses and swallows hard. “Even me. C’mon, you never pull away from me.”

Lorna shakes her head. "No, you don’t need to know. I don't wanna trouble no one. It's my problem."

"Try me, kid." Nicky crosses her arms and leans against the back of the closet door. “’Cause I promise the longer you keep whatever it is bottled up it’s gonna tear you apart and I care too much to watch you do this to yourself.”

“Nicky, just let it go. Let _me_ go.”

“No,” she says hoarsely. “Lorna, please…” 

Lorna slides down into the fetal position, hugging her knees to her chest. Nicky takes a deep breath, unravels her tightly tangled arms and sits down beside Lorna on the cold floor. Nicky wants to stare, look for any more signs, clues as to why Lorna’s acting this way all of a sudden, but Nicky can feel her squirming under her gaze and so she forces her eyes away. 

“I-I’m a crazy person,” Lorna says shakily. “There’s something really wrong with me…”

“There’s something wrong with all of us,” Nicky assures her. “If there weren’t, we wouldn’t be here.”

“No, you don’t understand. It’s different with me.”

“Look,” Nicky says sharply. “It’s bad enough we’re locked up in here, wearing shit, eating shit, seeing the same shitty people day after day so believe me when I tell you this self-loathing shit isn’t helping anyone. Snap out of it, Morello.”

“I stole the van.”

Nicky’s eyes widen and her heart drops. “Wh-what?” 

“Wh-when Miss Rosa was at her appointment, I drove to see…” Lorna takes a quiver of a breath as her eyes quickly fill with tears. “C-Christopher, h-he’s in Albany and…he was so mad…”

“I’d be mad too,” Nicky says with the slight narrow of her eyes. “You know what would’ve happened if you got caught? They would’ve tripled your sentence… Shit. Was his new fiancée there? That why you’re so upset?”

Lorna shakes her head no. “He was so mad a-and…”

Her quaking fingers push her shirt off her shoulder, showing Nicky the darkened bruises, looking so dramatic against her fair skin. Nicky gasps. Nicky Nichols literally _gasps_ , swept up in shock that quickly turns into an all-consuming rage.

“There more?” Nicky grits the words out from between her clenched teeth. Lorna’s tears finally spill down her cheeks as she lifts the edge of her shirt, revealing everything she’s quietly kept to herself for too long now. Nicky’s jaw clenches and unclenches over and over again. It’s all she can seem to do. The rest of her is utterly paralyzed.

“He’s not the man I thought he was,” Lorna cries. “I…I said no.”

Three words have never hurt so much to hear. As Lorna breaks down in sobs, Nicky wishes she could go back to before she pulled Lorna into this closet, wishes she could go back to earlier in the week when she was bored and on her way to find someone else who’s equally as down to fuck. Above all, Nicky wishes she could go back to when Lorna was hers, when Lorna was Lorna, when she giggled and talked too much and wore shockingly bright lipstick with pride.

“It’s all my fault…”

Never before have four words made Nicky so fucking angry.

“I shouldn’t have left the hospital,” Lorna continues, can’t seem to stop. “I shouldn’t’ve gone to see him. None of this would’ve happened if I didn’t. I-I was asking for it.”

“He raped you?” Nicky feels physically ill as the words leave her mouth. Lorna squeezes her eyes shut and nods hard, trying so desperately to hold herself together when she’s so clearly falling apart. “And he told you that you were asking for it? And you believe him? Are you outta your mind? You just wanted to see him and that fucking piece of trash—”

“Nicky…”

Lorna’s voice is so broken as she says her name. When she hears it, Nicky takes a deep breath, pulling back the reigns on that darkness swirling inside of her, the rage that’s telling her she should be destroying everything can get her hands on, including that fucking Christopher.

“Listen to me,” Nicky says calmly. She brings her hand to Lorna’s cheek, threading her fingers through her hair, an uncalculated move made out of purse impulse. It surprises both of them when Lorna doesn’t pull away. “You didn’t deserve any of that, you hear me? He could have called the cops or let you go, not… That son of a bitch deserves to be locked up, not you.”

“Stop.” Lorna turns away, moving away from Nicky’s embrace, her warmth, as if she doesn’t think she deserves the comfort. “Quit defending me.”

“If not me then who? Who’s gonna defend you when you won’t even defend yourself!”

“Y-you don’t know everything,” Lorna insists. “I’m fucking crazy.”

“Who in this place isn’t? Red’s constantly on a power trip, playing head games left and right, not to mention her quest to absorb the imaginary power of some imaginary chicken! Chapman, who you’d think would be the most well-adjusted out of the lot of us beat the shit outta Pennsatucky on fucking Christmas! Then you’ve got me, the hedonistic masochist. When I’m hooked on something or someone I can’t let go even if it means hurting myself, I can’t.”

“You can’t fix me, Nichols.”

“Fine. We’ll just be broken together.”

A fresh batch of tears cloud her eyes and when Lorna moves toward her, Nicky welcomes her with open arms. After days and days of keeping everything inside, Lorna collapses, melts into Nicky, who’s there to hold her, cling to her, and pray it comforts her. It doesn’t take a genius to infer that this is the first time someone has touched her since… Nicky can’t even think about that fucker and what he fucking did, _how_ a supposed human being could hurt someone as beautiful and hopelessly devoted to him as Lorna.

Nicky does everything in her power to repress her anger as she drops a kiss on Lorna’s cheek without thinking. The girl is such a tiny, sobbing wreck that she doesn’t even notice. Nicky tries to stay strong for Lorna, tries to stay calm even as her own eyes fill with hot tears.

 

 

…

 

 

Nicky kind of insists on being something of her bodyguard from that moment on. Lorna insists she doesn’t have to, shouldn’t bother, especially with how much Red probably needs her right now with the tension between their matriarch and Vee, the new one rising from the depths of the Ghetto. Nicky refuses her insistence and sticks to Lorna like glue. Though she won’t admit it aloud, Lorna’s happy Nicky Nichols is the most stubborn person she’s ever met.

Lorna’s always felt something for Nicky, something she could never put a name to. When Nicky got thrown into SHU prior to Chapman’s arrival, Lorna dealt with the worry and anxiety the only way she knew how—putting all her energy into wedding planning. When Nicky was released, they fucked everywhere they could, every chance they got, regardless of who saw, both just so damn happy to be back together. Feeling that much for someone like Nicky, the exact opposite of Lorna’s dream spouse in every way, frankly, scared her shitless.

Nicky is such a wildcard with wandering eyes and a short attention span and Lorna’s never been the type to place bets with her heart as currency. So she pushed Nicky away and fisted her fantasy, holding on as tight as possible. Now that fantasy has shattered and Nicky is still here, wants to be here for her, which isn’t the same thing as wanting to be with her, Lorna knows. Honestly, with the way she is right now, she can’t even think of being with someone even in a hypothetical sense. Regardless, Lorna’s never had that in her life before, she’s never had someone stand beside her without cohesion or blood obligation. It’s just as scary, but a scary Lorna’s willing to run with.

They spend almost every waking second together, other than when they’re both at work. They play cards and watch TV and sometimes just sit in silence, lying together in her bunk, not touching except for the occasional brush of their shoulders. Most assume they’re back together, back to fucking, and neither makes it a point to correct any of them. Things become steady in this way. Lorna still feels dirty, broken, at fault, but less alone, less empty, and that’s thanks to Nicky.

“How far along are you?”

Lorna blinks until she’s freed of her tangled thoughts and remembers where she is—at a meeting for Piper’s newsletter thing. Lorna thought it’d be best to keep busy, find things to fill her time and here she is, dishing out makeup tips when she doesn’t even wear any herself anymore. Piper and Flaca are off to the side, arguing about grammar or something, and Daya is across the table, looking right at Lorna.

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, hon,” Lorna replies.

Daya looks around, leans closer and lowers her voice. “Look, I know you’re like me, alright? You don’t think I can tell? I went through all of what you’re going through.”

Lorna’s eyes darken because no, she knows for a fucking fact that the Spanish girl did not go through what she has. According to Nicky, Daya has Bennett on a string, stealing quiet moments when they can, carrying on an illicit love affair like something out of a Lifetime movie. Bennett didn’t crush the side of her face against the back of a bathtub, not caring about the soapy water sloshing in her mouth, in her nose, burning her eyes, as he violated her in every way imaginable, whispering to her in a low, chilling voice, reminding her every few seconds that it was what she wanted.

“No, you don’t got a clue,” Lorna says calmly, seething beneath the surface. “We both wear crosses and we both got problems, but you and I are nothing alike.”

 _And you should be grateful_ , Lorna adds in her head.

“Don’t go around talking about something you don’t know nothing about,” Lorna whispers just as Piper and Flaca rejoin them at the table, asking them to settle whatever the two have been arguing about for majority of the meeting. Lorna is fairly quiet for the remainder of the meeting and thankfully so is Daya.

After the meeting concludes, Lorna peruses the aisles of the library, constantly looking around and over her shoulder to make sure no one is around when she pulls a book about pregnancy and a different, random one off the shelves. She sits in a corner and reads up on the early symptoms of pregnancy while using the other book as a cover.

“Hey!” Nicky saunters over, walking her tough, albeit lazy walk. “Fancy meeting you here, Morello.” Nicky looks at the cover of the book in her lap. “Since when did you develop an interest in Dickens? Isn’t Twilight more your flavor?”

Lorna finds no amusement in the question, just looks up at Nicky, her face as pale as a ghost. It takes seconds for Nicky’s worry to take over as she moves to sit beside Lorna on the library floor.

“What’s wrong, kid? What happened?”

“I-I—” Lorna huffs, frustrated with herself. “I think I might be pregnant.”

Nicky just stares at her, mouth falling open, floored. “Uh, are you sure?”

“I don’t know!” Lorna whisper-screams. “I mean, I thought I had my period right after…it happened. But I guess it could have been because… but this book is sayin’ spotting and cramping a few days after conception are a thing and can be mistaken for menstrual, but is actually…oh God.”

“Wait, baby, slow down,” Nicky says. They both pause when they catch _that word_ and the silence births a sudden awkwardness between them, but Nicky pushes through, licks her lips and nervously shoves her fingers through her hair. “What’s got you thinking like this?”

“Daya took one look at me and said she knows. What, am I showing?” Lorna looks down at her flat stomach buried beneath her khaki uniform.

“You look hot,” Nicky assures her. “Diaz is pregnant and from what I’ve heard, pregnant women are known for their moodiness and overall insanity.”

“There has been all the vomiting I’ve been doing,” Lorna says. “Morning sickness. And the fatigue, nausea, headaches and dizziness.” Lorna dramatically flips the page and quickly reads over it. “I’m not too sure about breast changes.”

“I could be of assistance in that department if necessary,” Nicky says.

Lorna gives her a grave look that tells her none of her jokes are going to come in handy here. Nicky gives Lorna a look right back because she should know it’s Nicky’s automatic response, her main defense mechanism.

“Nicky, I’m serious. I thought I am the way I am now because of, y’know, _him_ and what happened, but, Jesus, what if I am?”

“We’ll wait, see if you actually miss your period. If you do then we’ll have to tell Red, ask her to get a pregnancy test with the next shipment of contraband.” Nicky tentatively slides her arm around Lorna, who doesn’t jump away or cower, but leans into her. “Then we take things from there with Red’s much needed guidance.”

Lorna tilts her head and looks into Nicky’s eyes. “We?”

Nicky presses her lips together, moving her mouth from left to right. “Is that gonna be a problem for ya?” Lorna shakes her head no. “Good. I was gonna say, good luck getting rid of me.”

This is her reality now. Lorna’s terrified at the possibilities, but there’s also something so comforting about Nicky’s arm around her and Nicky’s choice in pronouns.

 

 

…

 

 

"Who?"

At first it doesn’t seem like Lorna even realizes Red is addressing her. Red proves the girl wrong when she marches closer, grabs Lorna by the arm and pulls off to the side, away from the other clusters of girls in the common room. Red glances down at Lorna's belly and then back up to meet her eyes.

"Don't make me say it, Lorna."

"No one."

"No one?" Red laughs. "Honey, the Virgin Mary card don't fly, especially in here... That explains all the barfing and the mood you've been in. Which CO?"

Lorna stares at her black shoes, knocking her toes together. "Red..."

Red looks over the dark-haired girl, takes in her appearance and adds it up with all the other out-of-character behavior she’s been displaying lately. Red’s been so caught up with figuring out Vee’s gameplan and caught up with attempts to win her girls back that she’s been blind to how one of them has been silently crying out for help. Red’s grip on Lorna’s arm loosens and her face turns to one of horror.

“Tell me it was consensual.”

When Lorna doesn’t reply, keeps her watery eyes on the ground, Red assumes the very worst and her dismay shows on her face.

"It was Christopher," Nicky says, walking over to them.

Red shakes her head and rubs at the headache forming between her eyes. "Nicky, don't tell me you're encouraging her fantastical thinking. This isn't the time—”

"It's the truth," Lorna says quietly. "Red, there's something I should've told you before..."

They don’t get a chance to wait to see if she misses her next period. Nicky and Lorna end up sitting with Red in the greenhouse, explaining what’s been going on while Red had been preoccupied with prison politics. Lorna tears up as she talks about what Christopher did to her, gripping Nicky’s hand in hers beneath the wooden table.

“Oh, Lorna.” Red frowns, looking genuinely sad. “My pretty, sweet Lorna…” Red shoves her chair back and moves to Lorna’s side, hesitant to touch her, but needing to be closer. “I trust you know the gravity of the situation?” Lorna nods, rubbing at her eyes. “And our limited options.”

“How do you know for sure, though?” Nicky asks.

Red clicks her tongue. “After popping out three, you start to pick up on things, feel things in yourself, see things in others. I can get you a test, but all it will tell you is what I already know.” Red heaves a heavy sigh and can’t help herself, places her hand on Lorna’s shoulder. When Lorna covers Red’s hand with hers, Red sees it as a spark of hope. The girl may be a permanent wreck, but she’s a fighter.

“Lorna, do you want to keep it?” Red asks gently. “Because that is going to be one uphill battle. The other option is to have it taken care of. There are, let’s say, _ways_. I’ve been in here long enough to see too many of them.”

“None of that coat hanger in a bathroom stall shit, Red,” Nicky says darkly. “No fucking way am I letting that go down.”

“There are other ways,” Red assures her daughter, who is clearly on edge. “Mendoza knows of this concoction.”

“But abortion’s a sin,” Lorna whispers, unconsciously bringing the tips of her fingers to the cross around her neck. She might have stopped kissing it every morning, but she does still wear it. For some reason even unknown to her, Lorna can’t bring herself to part with it.

“You don’t need to make a decision right this second,” Red says carefully, seeing the far off look in Lorna’s glassy eyes and not liking it one bit. “But the clock is ticking and you will need to make a decision.”

"Yeah, alright. I, uh, I gotta go." Lorna swipes at her eyes with the back of her hands and begins to stand. "Driving somewhere... I don't even know anymore..."

Red squeezes Lorna's shoulder as she makes her way toward the door. Nicky stands to follow her and suddenly it makes even more sense why the former junkie has been following Lorna around like a shadow for the past few days.

“Nicky, wait,” Red says. “We need to talk.”

Nicky peeks out the greenhouse door, watching until she can’t see Lorna any more. Nicky closes the door behind her as she makes her way back over to Red, who’s sitting and playing out the various situations in her head.

"What do we do, ma?"

"What else? Operation Pornstache. It worked for the Diaz girl.” Red taps her fingernails against the surface of the table, sounds accompanying the gears turning in her head. “Bennett is out. No need to start something with Mendoza’s girls. Not Kowalski or Donaldson. O’Neill, he'd be easy, sure, but Bell would be a nightmare, surely take it out on Lorna. Hmm, how about Luschek? It’d be cake if we could catch him on a bender."

"No," Nicky says with disgust, enraged, slamming her fist against the table. "Are you fucking kidding me? That sick fuck ex-fiancé of hers raped her! And now you want her to seduce Luschek to cover it up? You want to put her through that? Fuck that! That's fucked up, Red."

"What other options do we have, options proven to work?” Red argues. “You saw her, heard her when I suggested the alternative. You think she’s fucked up now? Imagine after. She’s a sweet Catholic girl. She sees it as sin, as taking an innocent life. But having a child, someone to care for other than herself, it’d give her hope for the future and she comes from a nice Italian family who can take custody of the child until she gets out. Tell me you have a better plan.”

Nicky paces the length of the greenhouse, so obviously racking her brain for something, anything. When she comes up empty, Nicky growls and kicks at the table leg.

“You love her,” Red says knowingly. Nicky stops in her tracks, freezes completely. Other than the occasional scoff or roll of her eyes, Red has never paid much attention to Nicky’s painfully obvious feelings for Lorna. “ _You’re in love with her_ , which means you’ve never been and never will be objective when it comes to Lorna. That’s why you’ve got me to lay it out, make the tough calls. I assure you I’m just thinking about what’s best for her.”

“I just…when is she gonna catch a fucking break, huh?” Nicky seethes. “She’s Lorna! She’s annoyingly sweet and nice to everyone. How is this fucking fair? It ain’t. I hate that she’s in so much pain. I just want to take it all away for her.”

“I know you do.” Red frowns and drags Nicky into a hug. She’s been Lorna’s rock through all of this and that’s a lot for one person to willingly bear. “I know you do, Nicky. That’s what it means to be in love.”

Nicky whimpers and hugs Red in return. “I don’t get it. Why’d he have to do that to her? If he were just nice to her, she probably would’ve… What kind of sick fuck would do that to Lorna of all people?”

“Rape isn’t about sex. It’s about power.”

 

 

…

 

 

"I'll do it," Lorna says plainly. Nicky lifts both brows in question, but Lorna doesn't seem to notice or pretends she doesn't. She just keeps walking along the shelves of books in the library, dragging her finger across the dusty spines. 

"Really?"

"If it's the only way." Lorna shrugs her shoulders, so detached, but then forces a somewhat smile for Nicky. "Fingers crossed Luschek don't mind having sex with a walking corpse like me."

"Don't say that shit about yourself, alright? You know I hate that."

Lorna lifts her eyes from the line of old, damages books and sets her scrutinizing gaze on Nicky. "Would you still want to have sex with me, Nichols?"

"I wouldn't say no," Nicky answers, then curses her dumb, impulsive choice of words. "But I would totally respect if you weren't into it and did say no." 

Lorna smiles what may be her most genuine smile to date. "No, it wouldn't be fair to you. I don't think I could ever... Just thinking about being intimate..."

Her smile fades and her eyes glaze over, making Nicky panic. Lorna's made so much progress. She still isn't doing her face up or back to her old talkative ways, but she's out of bed and crying less. The last thing Nicky wants is for all that to come undone.

"Hey, don't worry about the hypothetical, okay? Like you said, things are better this way, being friends," Nicky says confidently. “Are you sure this is what you want? Not the Luschek thing, but everything that comes after.”

“My parents married, started a family young. My brother, Mikey, got this sixteen-year-old girl pregnant his senior year in high school. My sister’s got a couple kids with different fathers. With my family’s reputation, the whole neighborhood was shocked and amazed Lorna Morello made it to eighteen without getting knocked up. I always wanted more than that, you know?”

Nicky nods slowly. She would give this girl the world if she could, a sentiment reflected in the way she looks at her, plain to see in her eyes.

“I called Franny and she’s coming to visit in a couple. I’ll tell her then,” Lorna explains in a more leveled, serious voice. “Home is hectic, but Franny’s good. It doesn’t really matter what I want anymore. This is just my reality.”

“We’ve established that I’m apart of that, right?” Nicky asks. “I’m real.”

Lorna smiles faintly, pinches her fingertips around a crease in Nicky's sweater and leans in to kiss her on the cheek. When she falls back and sees the dumb grin on Nicky’s face, Lorna almost smiles in return. It’s almost enough for the both of them to forget the tragic circumstances that constitute their new norm.

"Okay, I promised Chapman I'd go with her to yoga,” Lorna says. “Hey, don't be late for AA. I ran into Miss Rosa earlier and she’s extra cranky today." 

"Aye, soft eyes, Morello."

"Fuck both you and Chapman! My eyes are very soft, thank you very much."

Lorna gives her one last over the shoulder look before going to catch up with Piper. Nicky suddenly regrets not walking Lorna to yoga, certain she’s reached a disturbing level of caring. As she walks along the bookshelf, eyeing out a few books on pregnancy and childcare, Nicky contemplates how she’s never felt such a strong need to protect someone before. The whole concept freaks her the fuck out and is too much to wrap her head around, but for Lorna Morello, Nicky doesn't understand why, but she's willing to try.

"So, that whole speech you gave me about lesbians in high school, that was one of those things where you were really talking about you and your situation and less me and mine, iight?"

Nicky quickly spins away from the baby books and crosses her arms as she faces Poussey, who has a stack of books in her arms, filing them away on the adjacent bookshelf.

“How much of that did you hear?” Nicky asks, dead serious.

“I ain’t hear nothing,” Poussey replies. “Just saw you two together. She iight, though? She’s been lookin’ kinda rough lately.”

“Morello’s fine,” Nicky says defensively. “She’s perfect.”

Poussey laughs and shoves a book between two others on the shelf in front of her. “Man, that girl’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

“Not a bad place to be from where I’m standing,” Nicky replies, starting to back away and towards the exit. After all, she has AA to get to. “But, hey, remember what I said about sucking it up and making the boyfriend like you in order to stay in your best friend’s life or whatever?”

“Yeah, something about watching the Godfather ten times?”

“I was wrong,” Nicky says. Something in her voice, the disgust probably, has Poussey’s undivided attention. “Everything else I said was totally true and relevant to both our situations. Boiled down we’re both lesbians and for all intents and purposes this shithole _is_ high school, but sometimes we hate that asshole with the white-hot heat of a thousand suns for a reason. Sometimes we’re supposed to follow our instincts and kill that repulsive piece of shit before he hurts her." 

Poussey just stares, taken aback by the animosity in Nicky’s voice.

“Damn, Nichols…”

“If I could do what I’d really fucking like to do, it’d be done, but I can’t, at least not from in here. You, on the other hand…” Nicky scratches the back of her head, willing herself to calm down before she does something stupid. “Again, it’s your life. Just know I was really fucking wrong.”

Poussey doesn’t ask her to elaborate, which isn’t surprising because Poussey is smart. Nicky doesn’t wait for a response and heads to AA.

 

 

…

 

 

On the rare occasion that Lorna and Nicky have the TV room to themselves, a terrifying television program called _I Didn't Know I was Pregnant_ just so happens to be on and they can't tear their eyes away. Nicky squints at the screen, a grimace on her face as Lorna watches with her mouth open in shock. When the woman in question screams on the TV, Lorna grabs Nicky's arm and shakes her. 

"Are you seeing what I'm seeing?" Lorna asks. 

"I can't fucking look away," Nicky replies. "Ew! Giving birth isn't actually like that, right? They used camera tricks or some shit to ram up the drama, hook viewers with the horror?"

"On a prison budget?" Ruiz scoffs from the doorway. "It's even worst."

Nicky frowns at the bag of cheesy puffs in her lap and tosses them onto the table her leg is propped up on, suddenly losing her appetite.

"Morello, you have a visitor,” says a voice on the PA. “Report to Visitation, Morello."

"That's you, kid," Nicky says. "Your sister?"

"I dunno. Who else? I didn't think she was visiting till next week."

"Well, g’luck." Nicky watches her as Lorna suddenly fret over her hair, something she hasn’t done for a while now. "Don't worry about it. You look hot."

"Nicky, I'm a mess."

"A hot mess, emphasis on the hot."

Lorna cracks the smallest of smiles and touches Nicky’s shoulder before making her way to Visitation. She thought she would maybe have time to prepare, spend a couple sleepless nights writing out a script in her head. She hasn’t thought of how she was going to break the news to her sister, but now that the moment is here, Lorna’s just going to go ahead and do it. What other choice does she have?

When Lorna turns into the Visitation room, she sees Christopher standing there with a nametag stuck to his black sweater and everything goes out of focus. She remembers his blue eyes looks at her like she was filth, less than human, that she was _nothing_. She remembers the faint stubble on his cheeks that scratched against her soft skin as his teeth left reminders in her skin. She remembers too much, wants to run, but somehow finds her legs taking her closer to him like how she found her legs somehow taking her into his house that afternoon.

"What are you doing here?" Lorna asks lowly. She falls into the chair oppose of him and just stares right at him. Her nails press into her palms until her fists shake. 

"You left in such a hurry,” Christopher says quietly. “I just wanted to make sure we were clear. By the look of you, you got the message. I'm starting my life over, fresh, a clean slate, and I never want to see you ever again. If you come near me, or my family, or my wife again, ever, I'll do worse to you. I will fucking kill you. I will choke you with my bare fucking hands until you are dead. Do you understand?"

Lorna's so tries of crying and hates how she can feel the tears prickling at her eyes. She can feel his eyes all over her. All she sees is the shiny new ring on his finger.

"Hey!" 

At the sound of Nicky's voice, Lorna automatically turns and sees her through the window, pissed beyond belief. Lorna shakes her head, silently begging Nicky not to do or say anything that’ll make things worse, but Nicky isn't looking at her. She has her blinders on, her fury-filled eyes on Christopher.

“Hey!” Nicky slams her palm against the glass window. “You have the fucking nerve to show your face around here after what you did to her, you sick fuck!”

“Inmate!” Ford shouts at Nicky. “Step away from the window!”

“Who’s that?” Christopher asks. “Your prison dyke girlfriend? What did you tell her?”

“The truth.” Lorna grits her teeth and looks right at him. “That you raped me.”

“The truth?” Christopher laughs hysterically and stands from his seat, the chair legs squealing angrily against the dirty floor. “You told her the truth? So she knows that you’re a mental case who broke out of prison to continue to stalk me?”

“Would you keep it down?"

“Keep it down?” Christopher laughs, purposefully raising his voice now. He looks to the window where Ford is talking to Nicky. “You!” Christopher points and both Ford and Nicky look. “She told you the truth? She told you that she’s a fucking stalker? I don’t even know this woman! We went on one date! One!”

“And that makes what you did to me okay?” Lorna hisses. “You broke me.”

“You were broken long before,” Christopher tells her. “Do I need to remind you that you tried to kill me and my wife? You fucking psychopath!”

“You got me fucking pregnant.”

Her voice is barely above a whisper when she says it, but by Christopher’s reaction you’d think she screamed it at the top of her lungs and in his face. Time freezes, everyone in the room is undoubtedly staring at them, and Christopher’s eyes grow dark. It reminds her so much of that afternoon, of that bathtub, and she feels so small as she shrinks back into the chair, folding in on herself.

“You’re lying,” Christopher whispers back. “You psychotic bitch.”

“I wish I were lying,” Lorna says quietly. “I wish I could go on lying to myself and letting myself believe it, but I can’t ignore what’s growing inside of me… Well, I decided I’m keeping it. There’s your reminder of what you’ve done. And every time I look at him or her I have to be reminded of what you did to me, that the father of my child is a fucking rapist.”

“You’re sick in the head and deranged,” Christopher says. “And you want to pass that on to some bastard no one wants? You should just do everyone a favor and kill yourself.”

“Fuck you!” Lorna spits in his face.

Christopher shoves the table out of the way to get to her and Ford crosses the room in seconds, grabbing him by the shoulder before he can get his hands around her neck. She flips her chair over in her effort to avoid his grasp. Lorna watches as Ford shoves Christopher out of the room with him screaming about how she’s delusional and dangerous, ensuring she’ll be the talk of the blocks later today.

Lorna’s almost afraid to look over at Nicky, but she does. She can’t read Nicky’s face. That look in her eyes is so foreign, maybe a mix of confusion and concern. Lorna runs off, needing to get out of there, away from the stares and the judgment. This has all been too big a dose of reality at once.

It isn’t long before Nicky finds her sobbing on the steps. Lorna settles down and slows her breathing when Nicky sits beside her. Nicky’s hand automatically finds Lorna’s back, rubbing comforting circles as she makes soothing sounds.

“I told you, Nichols. I’m a crazy person.”

Lorna turns to Nicky so quickly the Jones-proclaimed junkie philosopher flinches.

“Why are you even here right now?” Lorna asks. “I lied to you. I lied to everyone…I even lied to myself. You should hate me.”

“Well, I don’t, alright?” Nicky assures her. “Honestly, kid, I don’t think I could hate you even if I tried. I don’t blame you for not telling anyone. It’s not like I go around volunteering the story behind my scar.”

“It ain’t the same.” Lorna sniffles loudly, curling her fingers into the khaki material of Nicky’s shirt. “I did things before I got locked up. Really bad, really fucked up things.”

“And you’ve also done a lot of good since you’ve been in here,” Nicky argues, stroking her thumb across Lorna’s cheek, dark locks of hair between her fingers. “The shit you did before doesn’t justify what he did to you. You said no. One no should’ve been enough. You know that, right?”

Lorna nods, then squeezes her eyes tight, but the tears leak out anyway. “Nicky, I-I made a mistake. I told him about the baby."

"Why would you do that?"

"I don't know. I don't know!" Lorna cries. "I wanted him to know how he ruined me, but he could care less...couldn't care less? Fuck."

"He couldn't care less," Nicky says softly. "Conversely, I couldn't care more... c'mere." Nicky pulls her closer. "Fuck that guy. He doesn't know shit about you and it's his loss. Jesus, Lorna, so many people are gonna love you."

"No. No one's gonna love me..."

"I do."

"No, Nicky, no.” Lorna tries to pull away. “You shouldn't. I’m fucking crazy."

"What? A rude, loudmouth junkie like myself isn't allowed to love a beautiful, sweet crazy person like you? How's that for a prison cliché, huh? Pipe’s ex-fiancé can go fuck himself." Lorna shakes her head and cries and Nicky holds her close. "Not to mention, it’s too late, kid. I already do."

 _More than heroin?_ The voice in the back of her head asks her. 

When Lorna whimpers, grasping for Nicky, that little packet of heroin in her locker is the last thing on her mind. Yeah, she loves this beautiful, broken girl and her hurt more than the one thing that makes her feel best. Nicky thinks to ask if this instinctual masochism is also apart of Red’s definition of love, but she doesn't really get the chance. Almost immediately after the Christopher revelation, all hell breaks loose. 

 

 

…

 

 _Do everyone a favor and kill yourself._  

The words buzzes through Lorna's brain like that ringing that fills the silence after a particularly loud concert. It keeps her up at night, makes her sick to her stomach all over again. Just the sight of him within arm’s length, those kind eyes turned monstrous burning holes through her all over again. How easily she falls apart makes her feel so hopeless. Maybe there’s no point of trying to rebuild and find some sense of normalcy, something somewhat resembling happiness when all that’s going to happen is she’s going to fall apart yet again.

Lorna’s run out of her little sleep aids from Red, has no more contraband lipstick to trade for little pills. The nightmares return. Nightmares filled with unwanted touches, useless cries of “no” and violently sloshing bathwater. She always wakes up, feeling like she was drowning and surfaced for air, lungs heavy, gasping. She’s disgusted with herself all over again, disgusted with every part of her he touched, especially the inside of her head.   

 _Kill yourself. Do everyone a favor and kill yourself_.

Things are tense all around Litchfield, especially with the discovery of cigarettes being smuggled around via tampon packaging and Boo’s betrayal. Red and Nicky split their time between war with Vee and preparing Lorna for what she has to do. She nods along as Red and Nicky lay it all out for her, when she's going to approach Luschek, what she's going to say, how much time she has alone with him before one of the other COs stumbles upon them and reports it.

Red is all business and so is Nicky and Lorna starts to see why they kept the rest of the family out of this particular area of tribe politics and the family business. Lorna nods along, memorizes her lines and prepares to play her part like in a movie or something. She just has to take Miss Rosa to another one of her appointments, but after that is when it has to happen. 

“Miss Rosa, are you afraid to die?”

Lorna turns to look at the woman sitting just behind her, watches as Miss Rosa buckles herself in with the seatbelt strap securely across her waist. Most times she doesn’t bother, especially if it’s Ford with them, but she does today. It has to be a sign.

“Eh,” the woman replies. “You’re afraid when you find out you have cancer, you’re afraid when doctors give you some bullshit spiel about making peace with people and gives you a number to count down from, but there’s something about waiting for death, especially in fucking prison. Fucking grim reaper, let’s get it over with already.”

Lorna smiles despite her teary eyes. “You’re a strong woman, Rosa. It was real nice knowing you.”

“Alright,” Ford says, climbing into the seat beside Lorna and shutting the door after him. “Let’s hit the road, inmate.”

Lorna starts up the engine, but doesn’t start driving till she sees Ford draw the seatbelt across his chest and hears a satisfying click. Lorna puts the car in drive and heads down the hill, going faster than she probably should.

“Inmate, slow down,” Ford barks. “And put your damn seatbelt on.”

She hears him, but she doesn’t hear him. It’s like the time with Pornstache in the van and Christopher in the bathtub. She hears and comprehends every word, but she feels so far away. Lorna retreats to that place in her head, the one once decorated with picture perfect images of Christopher and her future with Christopher, the place in her head that’s now just dark and serene and has always been so much more inviting than the real world. As Ford’s voice grows louder, but farther away in her head, Lorna grips the steering wheel hard and slams the gas pedal.

Lorna doesn't see the speedometer climbing, climbing, climbing. All she sees is the wall getting closer, closer, closer. Suddenly, Ford grabs the wheel from her and they go flying straight into a tree. The airbags administer and all at once everything fades to black.

_Do everyone a favor and kill yourself._

 

 

…

 

 

"She was pregnant?" 

"Was."

Red stirs at the sound of voices and forces her eyes open for just a peak. She finds Caputo and Ford stand by the door, looking into the room, but not at her. Red bites her tongue, trying to not make a sound as she turns to her right and sees Lorna looking so tiny in the hospital bed. Red's heart aches for her, especially when the men's words finally register. 

"And how's Rosa Cisneros?"

"Luckily, she was wearing her seatbelt unlike Morello."

“Fuck,” Caputo curses. "What the fuck happened?"

"She just went blank,” Ford explains. “One minute she was having a conversation with Cisneros and the next, it was like she tuned out and crashed." 

"Or maybe a certain CO had something to hide, undid her seatbelt, grabbed the wheel…"

Red makes her presence known and the two men look over to her.

"You shut your mouth, bitch!" Ford shouts. He takes a threatening step toward Red, but Caputo holds his arm out, motions for him to stand down. Red laughs. She's an older woman with horrific stitches in her cheek and head. What did he think he was going to do?

"That's a serious accusation, Red," Caputo says. 

"And you are in quite the predicament," Red speaks up, surprised at how hoarse her voice is. "Or maybe Lorna, she fainted behind the wheel, has a history of low blood sugar, has been ill all week. On top of everything else, our former Assistant to the Warden failed to ensure medical records were kept up to date, a wrong our potential new one will be sure to right. No one outside of this room has to know otherwise." 

"And what do you want in return for your silence? Your kitchen back?"

"I wouldn't hate it, but all I really want is for that girl to catch a break,” Red replies. “Unless you'd like to explain _another_ pregnancy in this prison and how that's even possible, I'd suggest you use my spin."

Caputo stands for a moment, considering. Then turns his gaze to Ford, who shrugs. 

"I could always use a bonus, Mr. Assistant to the Warden,” the correctional officer says. “Dimaguiba probably could too. The woman is a devious bitch, but she does have a point. We're the only ones who know."

"Only ones who ever have to know," Red adds.

"Even though it was due to her medical condition and ruled an accident, Morello will probably never drive a transfer van again," Caputo reasons. "And this clearly warrants a trip to Psych."  

"No. No Psych. She would never last in there, strapped to a bed. I won't stand for that, similar to how that Crazy Eyes character's rich white parents won't stand for it, hmm? The driving though, that's a small price to pay considering.” Red looks over at the young girl in the next bed and fuck it, her damn maternal instinct is kicking into high gear. "I know Lorna. She just wants all of this to be over." 

Caputo nods and grabs the nearby chart, probably to send whatever’s on it into the nearby shredder. "Alright, deal."

"What about Rosa?" Ford asks.

"Eh, she's dying anyway," Red says, flicking her wrist lofty. “And she won’t make trouble for Lorna, I can promise you that.” The two men exchange looks then nod and head for the door. 

"Okay," Caputo says once he’s already halfway out the door. "It’s done.”

 

 

…

 

 

Nicky feels so alone she might as well be in the SHU. 

She had given Red the heroin and basked in Red’s proud reaction; however, Red isn’t here right now because she got the shit kicked out of her by a psychotic dealer with a lock in a sock. Lorna isn’t here either because of some accident that ended with the front of the transport van looking like a crushed soda can pinned against a tree. Nicky had run out of the shop at the news, stood with her fingers through the chain link fence, looking out at the damage. She doesn’t have Red, she doesn’t have Lorna, but she does have a big fucking stash of drugs in an air vent.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”

Pacing a line into the ground in her cube, Nicky suddenly stops and looks up to find Piper in the entryway, arms folded, trying to look tough, but honestly, just coming off sadder than usual. Nicky doesn’t have time for her shit. She thought their little discussion earlier meant she’d have Piper out of her hair for a while, but apparently not.

“Fuck off, Chapman.”

“Why? Because I’m not family like you so sweetly informed me of earlier? Newsflash, Nicky, I’m all you have right now.”

No, she has Gina and Norma and Yoga and, fuck, even Boo, but mostly, Nicky has heroin. A part of her reminds her that it’s all she needs right now, a little taste to feel less lonely, less overwhelmed, less motherfucking helpless.

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

“I just want you to know,” Piper says, “I’m sorry about Red and Lorna, and that, yes, things are seriously fucked up right now, but you doing something stupid and impulsive because you’re scared and pissed off isn’t going to help the situation. It’s just going to make things worse for you and probably piss off Red and Lorna.”

Nicky would probably punch the waspy blonde in the face if she weren’t so completely right. Nicky turns on her heels and collapses onto her bed with a loud sigh.

“I feel like shit right now, Chapman. Why you gotta peg me so hard, huh?”

Piper presses her lips into a line and sits at the foot of Nicky’s bed. “There’s no safe word in real talk.”

Nicky actually laughs and it feels like it’s been so long since the last time. She kicks her legs back and forth as they hang over the edge of her bed.

“There’s nothing you could have done,” Piper says. “You weren’t in the greenhouse when Red was attacked. You weren’t in the van with Morello. There’s nothing you could have done to save either of them so there’s no point in beating yourself up about it.” 

Nicky knows Piper’s sentiments come from a place of rationality, but Nicky’s head is not. Her thoughts are a constant swirl of restless anger and unrelenting darkness. One minute they’re having a family dinner in the greenhouse and Red is saying the s-word and Lorna is actually smiling and the next they’re gone and hurt and left Nicky alone with incredibly easy access to her drug of choice.

“I never thought…” Nicky’s voice goes hoarse so she clears her throat. “I never thought anyone could actually care about me more than I cared about myself. I never thought I’d ever care about someone more than I cared about myself. Then those two… They’re all I’ve got in and out of this hell.”

“And what am I exactly?”

Nicky looks her way and smirks. “A three.”

Piper elbows her and Nicky feels some of that tension lifting from her shoulders even though she still feels so heavy and suspects she’ll continue to feel this way until she finally sees Red and Lorna with her own eyes and sees that they’re alright.

“The best thing for you to do right now is to probably take care of yourself,” Piper says, “Avoid doing anything stupid, mouthing off to COs, getting thrown in SHU, it’s what Red and Lorna would want… You know, try as you might, no matter how much you love them, you can’t save people from themselves.”

“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean I won’t try.” 

Half of Nicky’s relationship with Piper is this wordless form of communication, usually utmost amusement on Nicky’s part and downright mortification on Piper’s. Right now though, the look they’re sharing is a bit of the opposite. _Nicky Nichols, you undercover optimist, you secret hopeless romantic_ , Piper jibs with her eyes alone. Nicky narrows her eyes in return and sucks on her teeth.

“Shut the fuck up, Chapman.”

“What? I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t have to.”

Piper smiles and scoots closer, placing her hand on Nicky’s shoulder. Neither says any more. They don’t have to. Piper just sits close to Nicky, letting her know that she isn’t alone and Nicky shows her thanks by choosing not to destroy herself.

 

 

…

 

 

Everything hurts.

Lorna tries to shifts and feels a dull ache in her neck and in her abdomen. She almost doesn't want to open her eyes, doesn't want to know the facts and just wants to prolong the necessary return to reality. She hears singing, more of humming, and it reminds her of when her mother would sing to her as a child. When her curiosity gets the best of her, Lorna forces her eyes open and something as simple as that brings her so much pain. Her eyes are swollen, probably on their way to being ugly rings of purple and black. Seeing Red bruised and battered in the next bed brings her even more pain.

"Red!" Lorna tries to shout, but her voice comes out as a low squawk. "Are you okay?"

"Eh, I'm a tough old broad,” the woman replies. “Don't worry about me."

"What about Miss Rosa?"

Red laughs, but then winces when it brings her pain. "You wake up in medical and the first thing you ask is if I'm okay, then Miss Rosa when you..."

"I'm breathing. I'm fine," Lorna replies. "What about the...?"

Red just shakes her head slowly from side to side and that's all the confirmation Lorna needs. She nods her head and keeps nodding her head, growing more determined by the second. Her eyes fill with tears and it's crazy how crying feels normal after how much she cries nowadays. Red grunts as she starts to get up and Lorna's determined nods turn into shakes of her head.

"Red, no! Don't get up..."

"And let my daughter cry alone?" Red scoffs at the very idea as she inches over to the next bed and squeezes next to Lorna, moving her arm around the girl.

"You...you called me your daughter..."

"You are, aren't you? What else am I supposed to call you?" 

"Yeah, but not like Gina or..."

Lorna thinks of Nicky, but can't say her name because that means thinking about Nicky and how if Lorna and Red are in hospital beds, who's there for Nicky?

"It's my fault," Red whispers. "I lose the kitchen, Gina gets burned, I retreat like a sad old dog with its tail between its legs. I was too caught up in my own shit to see you suffering through yours.”

“My shit ain’t your responsibility, Red.”

Red hushes her. “Of course it is. That’s what it is to be family. Things are going to be different after this, I promise…but Lorna, I need to know. The crash, was it intentional? Did you… did you not think the baby would survive?”

“I didn’t think I’d survive.” The answer comes easy, but once the words leave her lips Lorna looks horrified. “I-I don’t know what I was thinking. I-I wasn’t thinking.”

“You were thinking that if you died, things would be easier?”

Lorna shrugs and even that hurts. “I did this to myself. It’s been my fault all along. I ruined Christopher’s life. I would’a probably ruined the baby’s life. I made more trouble for you and Nicky, more trouble than I’m worth. I just thought…I wanted it all to stop so I just let go.”

“You think about killing yourself a lot?”

Lorna shakes her head no. “I saw the opportunity and, Red, what I did…”

“It’s done,” she says firmly. “All that business with that man, all the business with the crash, there’s no taking it back. There’s no going back and fixing it. There is no fixing yourself. Just moving forward and staying grounded while doing so. You must acknowledge fault, but never let self-hatred kill you. You’re too strong and too important to me, to Nicky, to our family to give up on yourself when we haven’t and never will.”

“It’s so hard.” Lorna squeezes her eyes shut and shakes her head as if it were possible to literally shake the toxic stream of thought from her head. “The things I think sometimes… The things I do… I try to talk myself out of it, but… And I don’t realize I fucked up till after, if ever. Why am I like this?”

“If I could give you answers I would, but I can’t,” Red says. “I hate to break it to you, hon, but we live in a system that isn’t going to do you any favors or give you any explanations. It sure as hell isn’t going to give you the help you might need. You have me, you have Nicky, you have the family, but ultimately, it’s up to you.”

It’s quiet for a long while until Lorna sniffles and mustered the necessary strength to speak.

“It’s probably for the best, the way things played out, y’know?” Lorna breaks down as she says it, body tensing before going completely loose. “I probably would’a been a terrible mother.”

Red gives her an extra tight squeeze. “You’ll make a fine mother one day, great even… But I have no idea what that child will eat because you, my dear, are useless in the kitchen and Nicky can peel a potato, but that doesn’t make her much better.”

Lorna smiles at Red’s attempt to lighten the mood, a bit of humor (she is joking right?) that’s such a classic Nicky move. The two of them would deny it, but Lorna insists that Red and Nicky’s quirks rub off on each other from time to time.

“She’s in love with you, you know,” Red says, so directly, so matter-of-factly, as if the woman knows any other way.  

“She isn’t very discrete.” Lorna doesn’t think she’s ever outright acknowledged Nicky’s feelings for her, mostly denied noticing outright and in her head, until now. She still feels unworthy and nervous about what Nicky must think of her now. “It’s unsettling, honestly. I wouldn’t be surprised if she hated me after this.”

“I had unsettling once.” Red leans back against the hospital bed and Lorna leans into her like a child eagerly awaiting a bedtime story. “I had an unsettling, reckless, passionate love, but instead I chose safe, stable and America. Now look where that landed me.”

“Nicky’s all of that for me,” Lorna says quietly. “Unsettling, reckless, but safe and stable at the same time. Nicky’s real, the realest person I ever met.”

“They say the mediator between the head and hands is the heart.” Red hums and lets Lorna snuggle closer. “But you need to take care of yourself first and foremost. Nicky will still be there. You take all the time you need to sort yourself out. You’re going to have your lows, but you will also hit your strides. Recovery isn’t a race. That’s what no one tells you. Just take your time.”

“All I got is time.”  

 

 

…

 

 

Lorna doesn’t sleep the first night she’s back in the dorms, but when she wakes up, the first thing she does is put her lipstick on. 

She didn’t have time to set her curls in toilet paper the night before, but she does comb through her dark hair that’s probably in need for a trim soon. She purses her vibrant lips and applies a little instant coffee eyeshadow. Most of her morning ritual involves staring at herself in two round, disjointed reflective surfaces. It feels like it’s been so long since she just looked at herself. It feels like it’s been even longer since she actually saw herself.

It’s a new day and nearly spring. If she can make it to spring then maybe she can make it to summer and Thanksgiving after that and even Christmas. Her driving privileges are in the crapper, but that’s probably the best thing for everyone. She doesn’t know where to go from here, but breakfast is probably a start.

Just as Lorna turns around, she comes face to face with Nicky, who has a piece of paper between her hands with _feel better soon_ neatly written on, accompanied by drawings she knows are Nicky’s handiwork even if Nicky will never own up to her talent with a box of crayons. There are also scattered messages from the other inmates, too small to read from afar. Lorna finds herself fixated on how the card says _feel better soon_ oppose to _get well soon_ because is there such a thing as the latter, especially for her, especially in here?

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

“I’m, um, alive,” Lorna says.

Nicky nods and attempts a smile. “I’m, uh, still sober.”

Lorna tilts her head, sees the weariness on Nicky’s face in the form of lines and dark circles and a missing signature smirk. In a world where Lorna barely cares for her own wellbeing, left blasé about most things, Nicky’s apparent struggle is what gets to her, causes this sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. In short, right when Lorna thinks she’s completely numb, Nicky Nichols makes her feel. Lorna steps forward, wraps her arms around Nicky’s neck and Nicky returns the hug with just as much enthusiasm and relief.

“Jesus, Lorna,” Nicky mutters. “Don’t do that. Don’t scare me like that, okay?”

“Now do you hate me?”

Lorna’s question takes the form of a broken string of sounds. 

Nicky pulls back enough to look her in the eyes. “Crazy if I do, crazy if I don’t, right?”

Lorna hugs her again and they stay like that in the doorway for a moment. Lorna sees Boo from over Nicky’s shoulder and anticipates a nasty comment, but the loud, flippant inmate just nods before continuing on her way down the row of bunks. When they finally pull away, Nicky hands her the card and Lorna attempts a smile, which is more effort than she would have expelled a week or a month ago. Nicky holds her hand out in invitation, an invitation that’s always been there, always extended, one Lorna finally accepts as she laces their fingers and they walk to breakfast together.

And so, time keeps ticking by at an alarmingly slow pace.

(Nicky never tells, but on the very last page at the back of her fuck book is a list of baby names she thought Lorna would like.)

Days turn to nights turn to mornings turn to days. 

(Contrary to what she’s willing to admit, Lorna still cries at night. She cries for what Christopher robbed her of and what she robbed herself of.)

And the world keeps spinning. Life goes on. 

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to go on this rant about how Lorna stalking Christopher is an inexcusable offense and how stalking should not be minimized, but at the same time her story so clearly speaks to undiagnosed, untreated unhealthy mental state, which can inform and dictate such behavior, essentially robbing the person of choice, but I won't go beyond saying that.
> 
> Fun Fact: I do not in fact hate Christopher. I'm aware I antagonized him and demonized him for the sake of this story. Lorna's one of my favorite fictional characters maybe ever, but I did sympathize with Christopher. Also, I admit I dig his sweater appreciation and Lorna's appreciation of his sweater appreciation.
> 
> Alright, now drop me a line and tell me how I've just ruined everything. Meanwhile, I'm going to go eat a cupcake.


End file.
